


Your Children Play Strange Games

by Pretzelfishes



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Мор. Утопия | Pathologic
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Because of Reasons, Crack Crossover, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Just a general mess, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, M/M, Self-Indulgent, and that serious fic costume includes:, no y'all i'm serious this is just crack in a serious fic costume, resident snake man daniil dankovsky, the sand plague is somewhat sentient and also a bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pretzelfishes/pseuds/Pretzelfishes
Summary: "Well, this wasn't supposed to happen."-Lucille, the second she realized that Town-on-Gorkhon, a place she only came to in order to find her brother, mind you, was on the cusp of an epidemic.
Relationships: Artemiy Burakh | Artemy Burakh/Daniel Dankovskiy | Daniil Dankovsky, Eve Yahn | Eva Yan/Original Female Character(s), Montparnasse/Gryph | Bad Grief, weird crossover crack relationships inbound
Kudos: 6





	Your Children Play Strange Games

**Author's Note:**

> I have absolutely nothing to say for myself. What started as a self-indulgent crackfic premise from hell turned into this because like five people told me I should actually do something with it. Don't worry, I'm disappointed in me too.

Lucille stared out the train window, tapping slowly on the old and battered notebook in her lap, ignoring Montparnasse’s impatient stare. Instead she kept her thoughts on the task at hand, finding their older brother. It wasn’t going to be easy, after all she only really had her mother’s notes and a few vague dreams to go off of. She didn't even really know his name, her mother hadn't written it down.

She glanced at Montparnasse and sighed, “If you’ve got something to say, then say it. I can’t read your mind and I certainly don’t want to,”

"I'm simply curious," he said, and Lucille mentally prepared for an argument, "out of all the places our brother could conceivably be, why are we traveling to a small town that somehow exists beyond the borders of nowhere?"

"Oh for the love of-- Town-on-Gorkhon isn't beyond the borders of nowhere, you dramatic prick! And besides, I just...I feel like this is the right place,"

"And how will you know if it isn’t?"

She hesitated. He would laugh in her face if he knew that the town had come to her in a dream, "Because it won't be like any town we've seen in the past, trust me,"

Montparnasse narrowed his eyes, but didn't argue after that.  _ Finally _ , she thought,  _ heaven blessed silence. _

"Neither of us speak a word of Russian,"

"Ugh…"

\---------------------------

Montparnasse had expected that Lucille was on her weird spiritual bullshit when she said the town would be different from all others they’d been to, that the  _ energy _ or something like that would be different. And it was, but that odd energy was only exacerbated by the  _ giant fucking abattoir that was fused with the earth,  _ and that’s to say nothing of whatever on God’s green earth was floating ominously in the distance, barely visible over the town’s skyline. He never had thought much of Lucille’s desire to find their brother, and the subsequent journey they had undergone. But now there was a sense of uneasiness, like the two of them were on the precipice of something much bigger and scarier than themselves.

He had only felt like this on one other occasion: the night before general Lamarque’s funeral. It was a dreadful feeling, and he almost found himself praying that nothing like that was coming their way. He didn't think he could take that loss of control, not again and certainly not so soon. It seemed that Lucille felt the same way, though knowing her she wouldn’t hesitate to pray if she felt it would come to that.

And it very quickly came to that when soon after the twins’ arrival, a lockdown was called, and the two were trapped.   
Montparnasse pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep breath, and laughed, “Oh isn’t this lovely? You drag me out to the middle of nowhere and then, mere  _ hours _ after we get off the train, a lockdown is called and  _ we can’t leave _ .”

“My God, will your  _ griping _ never end? You know as well as I that I wouldn’t have brought us here if I knew this place was on the cusp of an epidemic! Now, if you’ll allow me to attend to more pressing issues, we need to find somewhere to stay. If you can get yourself together, I suggest we split up and meet at the theatre in two hours,”

If anybody had bothered to ask him, roaming this God-forsaken town aimlessly in search of room and board was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. Unfortunately, asking him what he wanted was too tall an order for his dear sister. Nonetheless, he gritted his teeth and hissed, “Fine,”

\---------------------------

Lucille cautiously walked the streets, occasionally striking up a conversation in the hopes of finding somebody who would offer a room. Something about the town put her on edge, filled her with dread. She felt helpless, as though she was rapidly running out of time, and every step spent wandering aimlessly only served to worsen her anxiety. She quickened her pace slightly, now taking nervous glances around. Under better circumstances, she would have stopped to laugh at how out of place she must look.

As blind as Lucille tended to be to the subtle dangers of the street, she found herself jumping at near every sound. The mere barking of a dog sent her near to tears and she dipped into an alleyway, pressing a hand to her pounding heart and taking quick breaths to try and calm herself. Unfortunately, standing still like this only made everything worse, and the dread that had been simmering in her gut began to boil over.

Through the anxious and nonsensical rambling of her mind, she tried to recall what her foster father had taught her about dealing with panic attacks.  _ Breathe deeply, focus on something, anything-- _ she closed her hand around the locket she wore, trying to focus on how the cold metal felt in her hand. Slowly, but surely, Lucille's thoughts began to calm down and she could finally breathe.   
The calm and quiet didn’t last long though, mere moments after Lucille calmed herself down, heavy footsteps came down the alley and to an abrupt halt only a few feet from where she stood. She blinked and looked up to meet the eye of a very tall and burly man. And he was covered in a frankly frightening amount of blood. However despite the fact that he was much bigger and taller than her, he seemed incredibly nervous. She blinked again and stood straight up, quickly straightening her dress, “Ah, my apologies monsieur, I wasn’t paying attention--”   
“It’s alright,” the man said, glancing nervously behind him.   
She waited in awkward silence for a moment, “Do...Do you have a name, monsieur?”

“Hm? Oh yes--” he cleared his throat, “Artemy Burakh,”   
She nodded, “Lucille Fauchelevent, I only arrived today, and...I beg your forgiveness, but I can’t help but notice your arm is in a sorry state,”

Burakh sighed softly and took a look at his arm, “Damn muggers are everywhere at night, and I don’t have the time or resources to get this fixed,”

“I see. I have a few bandage packs in my bag, if that would be of any help,”

He hesitated a bit, clearly debating whether or not he should accept the bandages, “Thank you for the offer, miss, but you might want to hold onto those. The town is growing more restless by the day,”

She raised an eyebrow at this, “What I might or might not need in the future is my concern. As for right now, I can see that you’re injured and in need of medical attention. Please, monsieur. I insist,”

Burakh looked as if he was going to protest further, but seeing as Lucille was already reaching into her bag he just nodded. “Thank you, miss,” he said as she pressed the bandages into his hands.

She shook her head and smiled, “Just call me Lucille, if you will. I’m not keen on formalities,”

He nodded, giving the faintest trace of a smile in return, "Lucille, then. In any case, I…" he trailed off, glancing behind him and frowning a bit, "I should be going, perhaps we'll meet again,"

And with that, Artemy Burakh was gone, and Lucille was alone in an empty alleyway.

\---------------------------

Montparnasse wasn't expecting to actually procure room and board when he and Lucille had split up. If anything, he just assumed she sent him in a different direction to get him out of her hair. But there he was, sitting in the middle of the upstairs bedroom at a mansion called Stillwater, watching Daniil Dankovsky, a poor bachelor of medicine from out of town, fumble with a microscope. "Didn't you say that you have a sister?" He asked, scanning over some notes.

"I did,"

"And where is she?"

"Oh, probably…" he thought for a second, and then remembered, "Oh fuck, I was supposed to meet her at the Cathedral half an hour ago!"

If Dankovsky said anything, Montparnasse didn't wait around to hear it. It took him maybe five minutes to sprint down the street to meet a very unhappy Lucille. “Where the  _ hell _ were you? You were supposed to be here exactly 35 minutes ago!”

“Calm down, for God’s sake, I found us somewhere to stay.”

He almost laughed at how quickly Lucille’s tune changed when he said that, “Ah. Well...where is it?”

“Just down the road, come on,”

And so she followed him to their temporary housing, and got acquainted with their hostess, a lovely woman named Eva Yan. “I don’t mind, really,” she said as Lucille was tripping over herself thanking her, “I enjoy the company, even though the house is a little full with you two and the Bachelor here. He can be good company when he wants to be, but sadly he hasn’t much time to chat,”   
“I’d expect no less during an outbreak like this. Still, if you’d like, I could keep you company,”

Lovely. Now she was flirting. Or maybe she was just that bad at communicating with pretty women. Eva smiled, and Montparnasse was sure Lucille was three seconds from disintegrating entirely, “You’re too kind, Ms. Fauchelevent,”

He huffed and leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Lucille looked over her shoulder at him, “Bored, brother?”

“Dreadfully. There’s got to be something better to do than sitting around here and  _ talking, _ ”

“You could sleep,” Eva suggested, trying (and failing, in his oh so humble opinion) to be helpful.   
“Don’t feel like it,” he had grumbled, but even he knew that wasn’t true. You’d have to be blind to not notice the way his head drooped and his eyes occasionally fluttered shut.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but nevertheless he was awoken at midnight by tolling bells and the sound of Dankovsky’s heavy boots as he came downstairs. He groaned and rubbed his face, watching as the Bachelor made his way to the front door, “Where the fuck are you going at this time of night?”

He only spared a glance back at Montparnasse as he pulled on his long black coat, “The theatre,” and with no other acknowledgement, he left.

At this point, Montparnasse had two options. Go back to sleep, or see why anybody would willingly go to a theatre of all places at midnight of all times. And the second option seemed much more fun, and by that metric, much more tempting. And so, at a frankly ungodly hour of the night, he too slipped out the Stillwater’s front door and out into the dark streets of the Stoneyard.


End file.
